The average man
by SantaVica
Summary: John is not happy with himself. He wishes back his army days where he was a fit army doctor. Sherlock has a very different opinion on that matter. "John, did you know that 69% of man consider themselves to be physically fit wheras only 13% are actually physically fit?" Sherlock asked into the silence.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: I was at the gym today and while I was watching all those people this little idea popped into my head. Of course Sherlock doesn't have to work out because he does everything magically with his voice._**

„This is not working anymore!"

John was looking at himself in the mirror for the fifth time today. He had never seemed Sherlock as vain or ostentatious but maybe he had just never shown it. Anyhow his constant complaining voice over the last few days had begun to disturb Sherlock in his thinking process. He could have ignored every other person who kept going on about their looks but he was just not able to blend out John's voice. The nagging began again.

"How did I get so out of shape? I don't know when that happened."

John turned around in front of the mirror and actually lifted his shirt to see what was underneath it. Sherlock thought what came out underneath his jumper looked very remotely like John had always looked but obviously John did not agree to his thought.

"This has to change. Now!"

Before Sherlock had decided whether he was really interested in joining John's conversation with himself, the very same had just left the room. Sherlock could hear his footstep going up the stairs and settled back into his mentally relaxed position since he hadn't moved physically. A few seconds later he found himself disturbed again as John called his name.

"Sherlock, where is my computer?"

Sherlock made a hand gesture towards his bedroom that John could have seen had he been in the same room. Since he wasn't he just repeated his question but louder. Sherlock was still not making a sound and waved again at his room. A few seconds later John came rumbling down the stairs.

"Ay, I asked you something. Where is my computer?"

For the third time Sherlock gestured towards his bedroom. John narrowed his eyes.

"Did you just do that when I asked you from upstairs? When you should have been aware that I could not see you? Never mind, I already know you did. You're impossible." He strolled into Sherlock's bedroom to retrieve his laptop from the detective's bed.

Sherlock startled again when suddenly loud music blared out of John's laptop that did not resemble the smooth kind of music that his flatmate preferred but rather a banging and some unidentifiable sounds that could only very widely belong to the field of music.

"Sorry," John muttered while franticly clicking on the desktop. "It just started playing and I can't find the right tab to stop it." He kept searching and Sherlock could hear him open tabs and closing them again. Suddenly he got up and snatched it away from John. With a few well positioned clicks he silenced the music and the routinely checked the websites that John had opened.

He frowned. "Why are you looking up gyms and" he paused for a moment "fitness studios in our area?"

Looking towards John he noticed that the same had turned a slight red and was now blushing even deeper under the detective's eyes.

"I used to be so fit, when I was in the army and today I can't even bring the groceries up the stairs without having to take a deep breath afterwards. I just think I need a little work out."

Sherlock was still starring at him. John closed his eyes in embarrassment for a second and took a deep breath. "Look, not all of us are built like a lanky lean consulting detective. Some actually have to work for it. I just want to be able to keep up."

"But you are keeping up when we chase criminals. You can defend yourself and you have defend both of us various times with your muscles. You are an excellent shot and have a calm hand. I really do not see what you could improve."

John shook his head lightly and managed a small smile. "Of course you can't see it. You are above these kind of feelings and I appreciate that but this is for myself. I don't like the way I look and I want to change it. Now give me back my computer."

Reluctantly Sherlock let go of the laptop and handed it back to John. It was still unintelligible to him how John could not see that he was good the way he was build and that Sherlock preferred it if he didn't change anything about it. But over the years he had learned sometimes only under severe negligence from his partner that he would never understand every reason behind John's seemingly mundane actions.

When John left the next morning he had his bags packed and a ready to rock expression on his face that somehow concerned Sherlock. He had not figured out why yet. Maybe it was just John's determination for doing something that had nothing to do with the world's only consulting detective. He had gotten used to having John's full attention on him, even more since they had finally gotten their, meaning John's, issues about sexual orientation out of the way.

Sherlock knew that John had a shift at the hospital and would probably then go on to try out training at the gym. Already last night he had analyzed John's computer and the opened pages to deduce to which gym John would go. He was nearly absolutely positive that John was going to attend a free try out training session at the "Fit and Firm Fitness Studio" short FFFS (Sherlock flinched at reading the awful name). They had a reasonable price for the offered possibilities, classes and free training, were in short distance and offered the free try out. John had also lingered relatively long on a page of a gym for elderly people but had then thankfully decided to leave that part of his mid-life-crisis to another date.

Sherlock was bored. John had left at a quarter to nine (to be exact at 8:44:54) and yet he was still not back. From Sherlock's calculations he should have been in the flat by now and enjoy the company of his partner before they went to bed. Although they had been sharing a bedroom for a while they still called it Sherlock's and John's bedroom out of convenience. Sherlock suspected that John feared he would open a second lab in his old bedroom if he stopped claiming the ownership of that space. Contrary to that believe Sherlock preferred working in the kitchen where everything was close, including John, although he would have loved to have some more storage room. Maybe he should carefully discuss this matter again with John. Before he could deepen that thought he heard someone moan from downstairs. Within a second he realized it was John and he leaped up already trying to figure out how badly John was injured by the noises he made. He jerked the door open to find a startled John at the middle of the stairs. He hurried down to meet him and offered his arm to support John's weight. At the same time he felt for wounds and broken bones.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I am tending to your wounds. Where does it hurt?"

John groaned in exasperation. "Everything hurts! Everything!"

Sherlock stopped him and looked him up. He could not find any wounds but maybe he was bleeding internally.

"What happened?"

John shook his head. "Look, I just want to sit down for a moment and drink some water. Preferably also shower since I am sure I reek of my and other people's sweat."

"Of course," Sherlock nodded and returned to the task of helping John up the stairs and onto the couch in the living room. "What do you need?" He asked with real concern in his voice.

"Just some water and I'll feel much better." John answered surprised by Sherlock's concern. Sherlock had already hushed away to get a glass of water. Coming back he asked: "What happened tonight?"

John took a sip and groaned. Even swallowing was painful. "That evil woman tortured me for two hours. I thought she was never going to stop. And another." He mocked a high pitched female voice.

Sherlock stared at him with his eyes wide open. "Who? Tell me her name and I will find her. Or at least Mycroft will find her."

John looked at him bedazzled: "I know who she is and where I can find her. Why would you want to go there too?"

"You know who she is? But how did she find you?"

"Sherlock, I am paying her for that, remember?"

"You are paying a woman to torture you? I had already suspected that the war had left deeper wounds in your sexual behavior than you are willing to admit but I had always assumed that when you are ready you would come to me with your wishes and we would work it out."

John was still not taking his eyes of Sherlock. "What sexual preferences that were influenced by the war? And what the hell has that in common with my visit at the gym?"

"Gym?" Sherlock repeated dumbstruck.

"Yes, the gym. I had my first try out training lesson today and the instructor was the absolute spawn of evil. She shouted at me for roughly two hours and made me do things with my body that I wasn't even able to do during my time in the army. She would have made a great captain."

Sherlock got up quickly and looked down at John judgingly. "So you are hurting because you had to do some sit-ups at the gym and not because you are secretly hurt?"

"Of course I am not hurt. I am just not used to working out anymore. Thank god I don't have to work tomorrow. I will be sore as hell."

"Well then, I assume you can get into bed alone. I still have some work to do." Sherlock turned around and walked into the kitchen leaving a stunned John behind who was wondering what had gone wrong this time.

_**A/N: Nope, Sherlock is not a computer specialist but I am assuming that he always installs all the usefull little ad-ons that he can find and there is actually one that can tell you on which page music is playing. I just really don't seem him sharing that knowledge with John.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**I am under no meaning trying to disencourage people from dieting and excercising healthly, I just think you should never make food the centre of your universe.**_

Despite his mostly negative experience after his first training and the incredible soreness of what felt like every single muscle string John continued his efforts after a few days. This happened much to the disdain of his companion who thought it was a waste of time.

"You know, you could join me." John suggested one morning without thinking about it.

Sherlock huffed. "The thought of entering a room full of sweating and grunting people just to show of my physical abilities disdains me. I don't understand how you can actually go there. You didn't want to enter the Red Club with, although the concept was the same and it was for a case."

"The Red Club was a swinger club if I recall correctly. How is that the same?" John snorted.

"Sweating and grinding people showing off with their physical abilities. I can't see the difference."

"Nobody touches your junk at the gym, Sherlock!"

"Technicalities! I still don't see the point of you going."

John simply sighed and went to grab his trainers. He knew the conversation with Sherlock about this subject was pointless but he still kept on trying. Since he was not really intending to get Sherlock to come with him, he was secretly consent that he resented the idea so much. The thought of not only having to compare himself to Sherlock's brilliant mind but also to a trained body was to frustrating. Knowing Sherlock he assumed that the detective would, once started, put all his effort in exceeding in this category as well just like he did in anything he touched. John chuckled, Sherlock's comparison with the disturbing image of the Red Club was not exactly off. Yet he would rather go every day for the rest of his life to the gym than entering that particular BDSM sex club with Sherlock again just once. He was not prude but he believed that some parts of his life should always be private and sex was definitely one of them. He had been secretly glad to find out that Sherlock didn't care much for being spanked since his meeting with The Woman had intrigued him so much. But to Sherlock it was just another _fascinating façade of the average man to escape his boring and tedious life_, thanks for that.

Sherlock had dropped the subject of John's gym activity for a while due to an extraordinary interesting murder case where in the end the dog was found guilty. It was a complicated story anyway. Only after the case he realized that John's physical work-out did also have an effect on his own life. After finishing the case he had wanted to celebrate the solution the same way they had always since they had confessed their feelings for each other one freakishly cold night at 221B Baker Street where the heating had stopped. Admittedly Sherlock had shot it but that was a different story. Ever since that night they had gone out to dinner after Sherlock solved the case and while John was eating his whole portion and Sherlock ate at least a little bit of his food, he had shown John proudly all the details of the case that no one else could have noticed. Then they would always proceed to go home and have the craved sex that Sherlock had denied them during the case.

So when Sherlock came home after having wrapped up the case with Lestrade at Scotland Yard expecting John to wait for him. But John was not home. A look in the fridge told him that he had already been to the shop to buy groceries and a look in the living room assured him that he had paused there for a while after returning from his work. A final look in John's old bedroom made sure that John had taking his work-out clothes with him. Sherlock was sincerely annoyed. John must have known that he would wrap up the case today. It never took him more than five days unless it was particularly difficult and this one hadn't been. John must have also heard him playing the violin late at night to sort out his thoughts and heard him stopping when he had finally solved the riddle. John always paid attention to that! Yet, he was not home to celebrate the victory.

John came home an hour later and greeted Sherlock, who was sulking on the couch, in a nonchalant way not indicating with a single notion that he remembered their victory celebration. After hearing John rumbling in the kitchen for a few more moments Sherlock called out: "It was the dog."

John stopped for a moment and then entered the living room.

"Ah, good to know. Are you hungry?"

Sherlock frowned. "We are going out. We always go out after I have solved a case."

John sighed. "Sherlock, I am really tired. My work-out was really hard today and I have been at the surgery the whole day. Can we just not go out tonight but another night? I'll make us some food and then we can go to bed. You look like you could use some sleep and I am absolutely exhausted."

Sherlock's face had lit up for a second at the word "bed" only to darken again at the thought of sleep. This was not how this was supposed to go. He might not have an average man's sex drive but he still enjoyed it and wanted to have sex tonight like they always did after a case. He sulked which John couldn't see since he had already returned to the kitchen. Well, maybe after having eaten John would change his opinion about the sleep. Out of experience and observing he knew that a hungry John was many times also a cranky John. He would just wait the sixteen point thirty-five minutes that it usually took John to make them dinner.

He was startled when John entered the room already after twelve point twenty-four seconds caring a tray with dinner. He was even more surprised to find his plate full with food including beans and other nutritious food while John's was significantly smaller and contained what looked like a poor attempt at making salad and a small slice of fried chicken. He watched John wrinkle his forehead and then dive in half-hearted with his fork into the salad.

"John, since when do you make the effort to make two different kinds of food?"

John let out a frustrated breath. "Sherlock, I have been having dinner like this for two weeks now, you just didn't notice. You are not supposed to eat so many carbohydrates before going to bed. They will turn into fat overnight. It is part of my work-out plan."

Sherlock looked at him like he had gone mad. "But we were supposed to celebrate tonight! How can I celebrate when you and your healthy, fat-free, carbohydrate-free food are looking like they want to cry out for help? This is not fair John! If you want to suffer than don't drag me into it."

"I am not dragging you into this. I gave you real food."

"Ha," interrupted Sherlock "so you don't think that this real food but you still eat it? What has benn socially compelling you to do that?"

"Look," John raised his voice now as well "it is already difficult to live with you and love you never being able to outsmart. Let me at least compete on a physical with all you. I should be in much better shape considering my age and my military background. Now eat!" Again he took a bite of his salad.

"I am not hungry now. Maybe if you stop being so grumpy I will start eating again but now I am going to bed, sleeping just like you proposed. I assume your muscles are too sore to do anything that would capture my interest in you for a longer time tonight. Good night, John!"

He jumped up from the sofa, leaving his plate on the table and stormed off into the bedroom. John sighed again. "Of course, now all of this is my fault!"

Sherlock could not sleep that night. Even after John entered their bed and whispered his name he didn't show any sign of being awake but his mind was working. What had happened to John? Why was he suddenly so self-conscious of his body? He scanned back the past months but nothing came to his mind that could have changed John's attitude. He had never cared about his looks before but something must have changed. Unfortunately Sherlock couldn't imagine what it had been and John was probably not going to tell him this easily. Next time the latter was sleeping and taking deep steady breaths. He was not dreaming yet which Sherlock always found fascinating to watch. Sometimes he tried to guess what John was dreaming about but unless it was post-case, war or sexual dreams, those were pretty easy to stop, he hardly ever guessed right. Although he would never admit it he thought it was wonderful that there would always be a part of John that he could not immediately deduce leaving always one last mystery around the man. Right now John entered the dream world noticeable by his small frown and the muttered words: "Oh, Sherlock!" But it sounded more like frustration than desire which annoyed Sherlock again. Despite the tone of his voice John rolled closer to him until the top of his head was touching the upper side of Sherlock's s shoulder and let out another sigh. This one sounded more contempt. Maybe, Sherlock thought, this is just a phase that will pass. He fell asleep with that reassuring thought and the even more reassuring breath of John Watson next to him.

_**Writing this so many small stories came into my mind (the red club, the shooting of the heating, the story of the deadly dog). I might write them myself but if anybody is interested in writing them please show me afterwards. I would be very curious for your ideas.**_


	3. Chapter 3

To Sherlock's disdain the situation did not improve over the next few weeks. John was getting grumpier and less content with every day. Although Sherlock had to admit that he could see the improvement in John's physique he refused to acknowledge it fearing that it would encourage John even more. Therefore their communication was reduced to everyday necessities and the usual case chat.

It was at a case that Sherlock lost his usually made of steel nerves. The case had not been very interesting and once again he was doubting the intelligence of the force. Maybe they should simply select better who was going to run after criminals in this country. But on the other hand he could not imagine so many people being interested in the whole paperwork which he was luckily able to skip. The murder was easily spotted since he was still standing in the crowd and once being pointed out to John had started running. The bored consulting detective was after him in the fracture of a second with his assistant following on his footsteps. To his surprise John overtook him quickly and with an unknown easiness despite disadvantage of his much shorter legs. He tackled the murder and managed to hold him down one-handedly. Lestrade and the rest of the force caught up with them rather quickly and one of the dim-witted officers whose name Sherlock could never remember took the criminal away from John to lead him to his rightful place in the police car.

Lestrade looked at them disapprovingly. "How many times do I have to tell you two that you are supposed to leave the chasing to my people?" The looked on his face changed to a more approving one. "Although, John, I am impressed. That was really quick and probably quicker than most people who are younger than you. Are you working out?"

The tips of John's ears turned the slightest shade of pink. "You know, just a little bit. Traing to get back in form after leaving the army."

Lestrade petted his belly. "Well, congrats. Maybe I should follow your example. Way to go, John!"

Sherlock could not hold it anymore: "Stop encouraging him, Lestrade! This whole obsession has become a terrible distraction and is impossible to incorporate into our life. This has to stop!" With a dramatic twist of his coat he turned around and left a stunned DI Lestrade and John Watson behind. The first turned to John: "What the hell is wrong with him?"

John shrugged and turned to follow the detective. He had noticed the strain it had put on their relationship but he was not going to let Sherlock boss him around in this just like he did with everything else. He spotted Sherlock getting into a cab and started running towards it, shouting his partner's name but the bastard did not stop and didn't even turn around to acknowledge John running. The cab left and John started swearing. This was of course the only cab anywhere close by. He reached for his phone only to realize that he had given it to Sherlock earlier who had sent a message using John's phone and had not given it back. _Great_, he thought. He considered going back to Lestrade to ask for a ride but was in no mood to discuss Sherlock's obviously strange behavior in more details. He started walking and silently cursed Sherlock for being the stubborn idiot that he was.

After a very long walk and even longer ride on the tube John finally arrived at 221B Baker Street. Having thought that his mood would have lightened up by the time he arrived he realized that the exact opposite had happened. He was more furious at his flatmate and maybe partner than ever. Sometimes he wished they would just go back to being friends and flatmates although he knew that it was impossible. Sherlock could not go back to unknowing everything John had told him and John could never see Sherlock simply as a friend. If the idiot was just easier to talk to but for somebody so brilliant the concept of _let's sit and talk_ seemed to create some kind of time-rift problem since every time John only mentioned it Sherlock would magically disappear only to be seen again at night when he was sure John was sleeping.

The door creaked as John opened it. The living room was dark but after his eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness he could see the outstretched form of Sherlock Holmes laying on the sofa, unmoving as always but undoubtedly deeply in thought.

"Sherlock, we need to talk." There was no answer and John realized he hadn't expected an answer. Maybe everything about Sherlock Holmes was a lost cause and maybe he was just as lost as the man on the couch. He waited for another few moments and then, without turning on the light, walked off in the direction of the stairs.

"John, did you know that 69% of men consider themselves to be physically fit whereas only 13% are actually physically fit?" Sherlock asked into the silence.

John stopped in his tracks and turned around. "What?"

Sherlock suddenly jolted up into a sitting position. "I said that 69% of men consider themselves to be physically fit whereas only 13% are actually physically fit."

"Aha" John said not knowing what kind of contribution was expected of him.

"You on the other hand fall into a different category. You don't think you are physically fit and attractive yet you never fall behind running after me across London. You have a steady hand when shooting which indicates normal muscle tissue, you don't have any medical symptoms that indicate lack of work-out and I don't see any need for you to be attractive to people outside of this flat. Or is there a need?" Sherlock stared at him through the darkness.

John was not sure whether he was more surprised at the thought that Sherlock had given this, although maybe it had been just a fraction of a second for him, or at the thought of Sherlock sounding jealous. Sherlock did not do jealous; he was so sure of himself he would have taken over the world if his brother led him without even thinking about competition.

"Didn't you ever consider that I am doing this for myself?" He asked Sherlock with a certain restrain in his voice.

Sherlock got up in a very quick move and was in front of John in three long strides. "No data indicates this variance. You are usually very much focused on other people. Not exactly caring about their opinion but wanting to make them comfortable which makes you the ideal partner at my side." "Gee, thanks!" John snorted but Sherlock was not done yet. "John," he insisted and scooped a little bit closer. "I need to understand this for me to even consider accepting it. Why is this becoming so difficult for us?"

John shook his head not knowing what to say. "Sherlock, I…" he took a deep breath. "I tried to explain this the other day to you but you weren't listening." Despite his tries to not sound accusing he could quite stop his voice from whining. "But I am listening now. I am not going to stop listening so explain yourself." Sherlock had somehow gotten closer and was now merely a few inches from John's body.

"I used to be very well trained and used to have a great endurance. Of course that was due to rapid army training but still. Ever since I came back I have slowly been degrading and I am just trying to stop that. As well as the fact that working and living and everything else with you is putting a certain restrain on my self-esteem. I know that I am more social than you and that there are certain things that I am better at but it is nothing that people notice. I am average to most people. To them I am just your sidekick. But I am definitely too old to be Robin." Sherlock frowned. "You know, Batman and Robin, the kid that was his sidekick wearing only green pants and a red shirt." Sherlock could not help but grin for the fracture of a second at the thought of John in just green pants but John fortunately did not notice.

"You are not my sidekick. I need you." Sherlock said with an unknown urgency in his voice and now being completely sincere again. "I need you whether you are trained or not in my working life just as much as I need you in my private life. And you are far form average, you are very special indeed."

His face came closer to John's and within a second his lips were pressed against his flatmate's lips.


End file.
